I shake my head. “Cabaret only has shows Thursday through Sunday,” I say, finally coming out of my trance of shock and surprise. “If it’s all good to you, I’d rather not drink where I work.”
He nods. “Of course, sure. Is there a place you’d be comfortable?”
Tilting my head at him, I grin. “There’s a place the locals like to go. Follow me.”
He flashes me a devilish grin, all straight white teeth and dimples for days, and I realize this man probably gets a lot of whatever he wants—whoever he wants—just with that smile. No wonder my hormones are whacking out around him.
“Lead the way.”
I’m sofucked.
The bar I lead us to is a short walk away, tucked behind the Strip, and therefore often overlooked by the tourist crowd. O’Malley’s is dated, grungy, and full of locals getting off their evening shifts—and some popping in early before their morning shifts. We’re an eclectic bunch, but we don’t judge. It’s probably the most inclusive bar I’ve been to in Vegas since I moved here six years ago.
That being said, when Corey and I walk in just after 1:30am, a lot of people stop and stare—and I know they aren’t looking at my unfashionably sexy leggings and sweatshirt.
To his credit, Corey doesn’t miss a beat; he just takes my hand in his and leads us to two seats at the end of the bar. His hand is so, so much bigger than mine, and it’s warm and soft to the touch. I’m sad when he lets go as we reach our seats, but immediately feel a warm buzz in my chest as he twists the bar chair toward me so I can hop up onto it. A gentleman?
Who is this guy?
Janie, the Tuesday night bartender, pauses in front of us and gives Corey a double take. “What can I getcha both?”
“Stella, draft please,” I say, turning to him.
“Same,” he says, smiling and nodding at Janie, who is still blatantly staring at him.
Once she shuffles off, I turn directly to face him.
“Okay, what the fuck is your name? For real?”
He laughs, and the warm buzzing in my chest feels like a vibration. His laugh is rich and deep, and all I want is to hear it again several times before this night is over.
“My name is Corey,” he says, turning his chair to face me as well.
“And Frank is…?”
“Hmmm, I guess you could say Frank is my alter ego.” If eyes could actually sparkle in real life, his would totally be sparkling now. And those dimples—damn him!
Janie sets down our beers and hesitates, staring once again at Corey. “We’re good. Thanks, Janie. I’ll holler if we need a refill,” I say, pointedly, but politely, dismissing her.
Grabbing my beer, I turn back to face Corey again. He’s done the same, and he clinks his glass against mine. “To getting to know a new friend,” he toasts.
“If that’s what this is, sure,” I say, as we both sip our beer.
He sets his drink down on the bar and places his hands on his knees. “What else would it be?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. I don’t know a single thing about you except you’re rich, tall, sexy, and clearly well known.” I regret some of those words as soon as they leave my lips.
“Sexy, hmm?”
“Don’t try to distract me. I’m trying to figure out who you are,” I say, taking another sip of beer. But the truth is, he’s effortlessly sexy, and it’s distracting as hell. There’s some heat in his gaze, directed at me, and damn if it doesn’t make my nipples hard.
“Why don’t we play a little game?” he suggests.
“What, like twenty questions?”
“Sure,” he says. He opens his mouth again, but I beat him to the punch.
“I’ll go first,” I say, quickly taking a sip of beer and sitting up straight. “What do you do for a living?”
